Of Crickets and Weavers of Words
by Skye12
Summary: Merry continues the bedtime story tradition and remembers who used to tell him his bedtime stories "once upon a time"


Of Crickets and Weavers of Words  
  
A/N: Could not get the blasted italics to work. Well this is a short little story created as a continuation of illyria-pffyffin's story titled "Of Rabbits and Shapes of Stars" I greatly suggest you read hers first and drop off a review (we author's love that ) I was touched by the sweetness of her tale about Frodo telling a young Merry bedtime stories and remembering when his parents once did so for him. My tale is about Merry carrying on the bedtime story tradition and also remembering the loss of a loved one.  
  
A/N2: A bit of editing was done in one section of this, just my silly nattering ways, but the sole reason I reloaded this story was because it was always being cut off in the middle on I hope this fixes the problem.  
  
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"I want a story!" The curly-headed, bright-eyed little lad hopped on the bed until he collapsed with a huff. The older hobbit simply crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at the young hobbitling. But this was a Tookish lad and therefore as persistent as the day is long. He pouted and his bright eyes gleamed mischievously. He blew some of his burnt copper curls from his face and mewled.  
  
"Oh bother you!" muttered the elder hobbit, one Meriadoc Brandybuck. He could not help but grin, "I am familiar with the scheming ways of Tooks." Merry gathered up the tiny lad and lifted him in the air. He pressed the soft belly to his lips and blew until the child wriggled and squealed. "After all, Faramir Took, as far as Tooks go, your father takes the cake!"  
  
The giggling lad was turned upside down until he reached out his tiny hands and grasped the counterpane with a squeak. "I want a story!" he repeated, giving a strong pull and almost freeing himself of his uncle.  
  
"Quit that or you'll tear up the whole bed and then I'll have you sleeping on the rug," laughed Merry.  
  
"No!" shrieked the lad, pulling again and this time succeeding in diving head first into the quilts. "I want to hear a story! One about bugs!"  
  
"Bugs?" Merry screwed up his face. "How horrid."  
  
"They are not horrid!" said the lad, matter-of-factly. Merry suppressed a chuckle. This lad was precisely like his father! Faramir continued, throwing a quilt over his back and peeping out slyly. "They live in nutshell houses and can have a whole meal out of one kernel of corn and they have wings like tiny birds and they never take baths and they can stay up all night and I know because I try to watch when the fireflies go to sleep but you know what? They never do, they just blink about all night long until the sun rises, I bet that, I do! I couldn't really see because I'm not aloud to stay up all night but I wish I could because then I could dance with the fireflies and watch them go to bed when the sun rises. Did you know they slept in the grass? I wish I could sleep in the grass, don't you think...."  
  
"Why don't you tell the story then!" cried Merry, wondering if the lad ever needed to stop for breath. "Since you're so fond of chatter."  
  
"I don't know any stories about bugs," Faramir whimpered. "I want to hear stories. Didn't you ever hear any stories before you went to bed? Don't you know any stories, Uncle Merry?"  
  
Merry paused for a moment. Memories of a certain orange rabbit surfaced and he smiled somewhat sadly.  
  
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"Frodo?" The room was quiet, save for Frodo's slow breathing. Merry could feel his older cousin's breath blowing his curls gently. "Frodo?" he whispered again, snuggling closer.  
  
"Hmm?" came the sleepy reply. Merry sighed thankfully. Frodo's voice was thick with sleep but still soft and gentle and the little lad could recall the tale he had just heard from that voice.  
  
"Frodo, I was wondering, did you make up that tale about the orange bunny, Rudo Fluffytails, all by yourself just now?" Merry, in all of his six years of age, was an inquisitive lad like no other. He turned slightly and saw a wide smile forming on his cousin's face, but his eyes were still closed and he had not yet said much. "If you did," Merry continued cautiously, "I'd like to know how."  
  
The smile faded just a little and Merry saw his cousin's eyebrows raise as he cracked open his eyes. "Why, whatever for?" Merry smiled and felt some of his trepidation fade away. For some reason he did not want to tell Frodo just how amazing he was.  
  
At seeing the lad's bright smile Frodo woke fully and propped himself up on an elbow. "Look at that," he turned his face toward the window. "It's still dark you silly lad. I've just fallen asleep and it'll be hours yet until the sun rises."  
  
"I'm sorry," Merry quickly ducked his head. "I just was wondering. You make up such amazing stories, sometimes I don't believe it all came from your head. But it did, didn't it?"  
  
Frodo smiled and nodded slowly. "Yes I did pull the story from my head just now."  
  
"But how? I don't think no one else could do something like that. It's so... magnificent! I'd like to learn."  
  
Frodo laughed gently and ruffled Merry's curls. "It's not something you can learn, I think. At least I never did. It's just something you pick up as you go along."  
  
Merry sat up then. "Then you are a very astonishing hobbit. Like magic even!"  
  
"Oh it's not quite magic..." began Frodo but Merry quickly cut him off.  
  
"Oh yes it is! It's just like magic, and you," Merry pointed to him accusingly. "You are just like magic too, Frodo."  
  
Frodo pinched Merry's nose and laughed. "Such a silly goose! What do you think I am? A wizard?"  
  
Merry narrowed his eyes and seemed to inspect his older cousin meticulously. "Perhaps. Do you have a pointy hat?"  
  
"I dare say I do not!"  
  
"A staff?"  
  
"Merry-lad!"  
  
"But you do make magic. You make rabbits and wolves and whole stories just from words. That's magic as anything is."  
  
"Well then, it is very good magic," smiled Frodo. He sat up and placed Merry on his lap. "You want to know how to do magic?"  
  
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Merry sighed heavily as his cousin's laughter seemed far too distant in his memory. He turned to his young nephew and smiled sadly. "Very well, Faramir, my lad. I shall tell you the tale of Poppy Nicker who's a very proper cricket, you know. Poppy, he would play his music on a warm night, and listen to the tunes of all the other crickets, and they'd make such a lovely melody. But Poppy was not like most crickets, he wore a green vest with little gold buttons..."  
  
"How did he get the gold?" asked Faramir, settling on the bed.  
  
"Well," Merry thought for a moment. "Why he nicked them off a dwarf's shoe buckle. After all he is a nicker. The dwarf never missed them though, since buttons for a cricket are only the size of a pinhead."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"So Poppy Nicker was a very resourceful little bug, and a very fine fiddler. But little did Poppy know that things were going to get quite complicated in his little bug life and he'd need all the resourcefulness he could get. For you see, a nasty woodpecker saw what Poppy did to the dwarf's shoe buckle and he got to thinking, oh yes he got to thinking wicked thoughts about young Poppy."  
  
"What was the woodpecker's name?" asked Faramir with a bit of scrutiny, as if he were testing Merry's story telling abilities. Merry closed his eyes for a moment, like Frodo once did, and sure enough swiftly the thoughts came. When he opened his eyes they shone with a cunning gleam that, if they had been blue, could have easily been mistaken for Frodo's.  
  
"Lazy old Tom Tickins," replied Merry. "And that Tom thought to himself, 'If that cricket can steel nicks of gold right off a dwarf's shoe, just think what else he can get for me!' So Tom swooped down and fluffed out his bright red chest. He found an old yellow reed and folded it over the tip of his beak."  
  
"Why'd he do that?"  
  
"Oh you will soon see. Then he looked to Poppy, just sitting there fiddling, and said in a sly, sleek voice, 'Why is that Poppy Nicker? I'd never thought I'd get to meet a bug such as you.' Now Poppy was quite an arrogant bug so he took to compliments quite well and..."  
  
"What's arrogant?" Faramir cocked his head to the side and frowned.  
  
Merry thought for a moment, turned his eyes to the ceiling for inspiration and then his expression brightened with a cunning grin. "Just think of your father as a cricket!"  
  
"Uncle Merry!" admonished Faramir as he fell backwards and giggled into the quilts.  
  
"Oh, you don't think Peregrin Took, Thain of the Shire, could be considered arrogant? Well I've known your father a lot longer than you've known him, lad, and that's just what he is."  
  
"So what happened to Poppy?"  
  
"Pippin... er... I mean Poppy..."  
  
"Uncle Merry!" the child giggled and sat up to punch his uncle in the arm. "Get on with the tale!"  
  
Merry winced and his left hand shot up to clutch his afflicted right arm. It was chill as it had always been since the Witchking. "Let's not beat up your poor uncle. I'm not what I used to be. Now where was I? Oh yes, so Poppy was an arrogant bug, full of himself, thought he was the thing to behold. He stood up proudly and piped, 'Oh yes sir, indeed I am Poppy Nicker! What can I do for you, fellow woodpecker?'  
  
"And now Tom grinned slyly, 'I've heard you stole a dragonfly's gold once!'"  
  
"A dragonfly!" burst out Faramir, laughing until he rolled on his side.  
  
"Well a real dragon would be much too big for a cricket to fight, don't you think?" asked Merry, quite serious.  
  
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"Close your eyes, Merry-lad. Now pick an animal."  
  
"Um... a rabbit."  
  
Frodo laughed and shifted Merry to the side. "Another rabbit! Why, you're going to grow buck teeth one day, and big floppy ears, and a fluffy little tail, you wait and see."  
  
"I like rabbits!" giggled Merry.  
  
"Alright, what's his name?"  
  
"Merry!" piped the child. Frodo laughed again and Merry could feel his cousin's chest rumbling behind him as he bounced on Frodo's lap.  
  
"And what's this rabbit like?"  
  
"He's very brave, and he fights trolls every day because they want to hurt his family. So to thank him his Mama bakes him special pies every day that are just for him."  
  
"Oh, just for him, eh? All those pies? Doesn't he get a tummy ache?" Frodo began to nimbly tickle Merry's stomach.  
  
Merry giggled and pushed his cousin's hands away, intent on getting on with his story. "Sometimes he likes to share them." Merry turned around to face Frodo and smiled.  
  
"And who does he share them with?" whispered Frodo.  
  
"His cousin-rabbit. Because his cousin-rabbit is a wizard and he teaches Merry fun tricks. And when Merry is feeling sad his cousin-rabbit blows on his tummy to make him feel better and then he does some magic and he's always there if Merry needs help."  
  
"Oh, is that so?" murmured Frodo, wrapping his arms around Merry and turning so that they may lie down again. "Go on."  
  
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"What did Poppy do, Uncle Merry? Did he tell Tom that he never fought a dragonfly?"  
  
"Oh no, because Poppy is arrogant. He only grinned and said, 'Well I cannot really recall.'  
  
"But Tom was as insistent as he was sly and he walked right up to Poppy and said. 'But it had to be you. Otherwise where else would a cricket such as yourself get such nice gold buttons?'  
  
"Now Poppy was nervous. He stepped away towards his walnut shell house. 'I'd like to say I didn't,' flustered Poppy. 'Good day sir.' He was about to flee but old Tom flew up and landed right in front of the door to the walnut shell."  
  
Faramir bounced on the bed with excitement. "Oh dear!"  
  
"'Oh please Mr. Nicker,' said Tom in his most pleading, sweetest tone. 'I do not know who else to go to. I do not know many brave bugs and you see, my beak is blunted so as I can't do it myself so...' Poppy hopped up once and saw that indeed his beak looked very blunt. What Poppy didn't know is that Tom had put the reed there."  
  
"That old stink!" cried Faramir.  
  
"Ah you see, woodpeckers can be very sneaky. So Tom made himself look very sad and distraught and pleaded for Poppy's help. Now Poppy was a curious bug... just like Pippin is curious hobbit... and that gets him into trouble."  
  
"Pippin or Poppy?" giggled Faramir.  
  
"Both! But I am telling the tale of Poppy not Pippin. So Poppy stepped out and asked, 'Well what can I do to be of some service?'  
  
"Lazy old Tom grinned wickedly to himself. 'There's a family of bugs trapped in the cranky old oak tree. They had a home in one of his fissures but, one day, Old Oak was especially cranky and he swallowed them up in his bark. For days I have tried to peck away but it has only blunted my beak. I thought you might help me, seeing is how you are such a brave bug.'  
  
"Now Poppy was not a mean bug and he wanted to help this poor family that was trapped. But he wasn't so sure. 'And what makes you think I can be of service?' asked Poppy a bit unsure.  
  
"'There is no one else!' Tom pleaded.  
  
"Poppy thought to himself. 'Well, perhaps I can nick the bark away. It's worth a try.' He agreed and Tom took the little cricket in his claws and brought him to Old Oak."  
  
"And was there really a family there or is Tom going to eat Poppy!?" cried Faramir, clutching the counterpane.  
  
"Oh you shall see." Merry smiled and patted the lad's head.  
  
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Frodo was smiling sleepily as he stroked young Merry's curls. The lad was telling his tale, weaving it as if he had done it a thousand times before, and Frodo beamed with pride. "And then the big hulking troll, he stepped on the poor rabbit's foot, and little rabbit-Merry cried."  
  
"Oh dear," murmured Frodo. "I do hope he is alright."  
  
"Well, Merry hopped home and cried and cried and do you know who came by?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Another rabbit in a pointy blue hat, with a crooked staff, and he was rabbit-Merry's cousin, the wizard. And when Merry told his cousin what happened the wizard-rabbit was very angry with the troll. He took Merry back there and raised his staff and said magic words."  
  
"And what were those magic words?"  
  
Merry smiled and sighed contentedly, snuggling deeper into Frodo's protective embrace. "Once upon a time..." At this Frodo grinned even wider and gave his cousin a tight squeeze. Merry grinned and continued. "And he told the troll such a wonderful bedtime story that he feel asleep right after and had nice dreams, and then the wizard-rabbit healed rabbit-Merry's foot and they ate lots of yummy pies as a reward for saving the burrow."  
  
"Why Merry you know what that was?" whispered Frodo, closing his eyes and smiling.  
  
"What was it?"  
  
Frodo took a deep breath and sighed into Merry's hair, "Magic."  
  
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Faramir tugged at his uncle's sleeve. "Come on, Uncle Merry, don't stop now! What happened after they got to the tree?"  
  
Merry smiled down at the lad and ruffled his curls. "Patience makes a lad stay young." He pressed the boy's nose and Faramir sneezed. Merry laughed and continued. "Alright. Poppy hopped over to a small crack in the bark and peered in. He said, 'Hello! Is anybody in there?' Deep in the tree he could hear many many little voices, but he could not tell what they were saying. 'Hold on and I'll help you!' Poppy hopped around, looking for the right place. He found a chip in the crack and gave a slight snap as he hopped on it. A nice round hole was made and Poppy was quite proud of himself for nicking that bit of wood aside. 'I suppose you can fit through now,' he said, peering in.  
  
"Within was indeed a large family of grubs. They blinked in the sunlight and cried, 'My my! What a rude little bug! Why did you do that?'  
  
"Poppy was quite confused, 'Were you not trapped in there?'  
  
"'Oh no!' the grubs cried, 'This is where we live!' As Poppy was about to apologize Tom flew up and the grubs cried out."  
  
"Why that old woodpecker is going to eat them, isn't he Uncle Merry?"  
  
"Oh yes! For you see woodpeckers nick at the wood all day, but since their beaks are so pointed, they only get a few. But lazy Tom did not want to do that and he knew how resourceful Poppy could be. He knew that that cricket would find away to get him a nice big, squirming juicy meal."  
  
"What will Poppy do!?" shrieked Faramir, grabbing hold of Merry's sleeve.  
  
"Well Poppy knew he had the wool pulled over his eyes and he was not very happy. So Poppy hopped up, way high up and right onto lazy old Tom's back! He reached over and grabbed the two ends of the reed about Tom's beak and pulled hard! The bird pulled back and the grubs burrowed to safety. Poppy gave another sharp pull and Tom pulled back again."  
  
"Why, he's taming him like a horse!"  
  
"Oh yes he did! And with enough pulls Poppy was able to make lazy old Tom fly him all the way home. By the time they reached the little walnut shell home Tom was so tired, he was panting and whining and making such a fuss. Poppy hopped off and old Tom trudged away, too tired to bother anyone anymore that day. By that time it was quite close to evening and Poppy arrived home in time to settle down and begin to fiddle for the rest of the night. He struck up quite a tune that night and lead all the other crickets in a wondrous melody! The end."  
  
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Merry sighed and knocked on the door to the study. The smial was dark and it was terribly late, yet Merry knew his cousin was awake. He could hear the light scratch of pen on parchment and a thin, golden thread of light peered from under the door. It had been about a year since the Journey and he had paid as many visits to Bag-End as he could afford. The Shire was in awful states but things were starting to come back to order. He felt tired and found that he took to rubbing his right arm when he was nervous or just thoughtful. Rubbing some warmth into it gave him some sense of safety. "Frodo," he whispered lightly but there was no answer. He waited and whispered again, "Frodo."  
  
The pen scratch paused abruptly and there was a long silence. Merry was about to turn back to the guest room when he heard the squeak of a chair and footsteps approach. He held his breath as the door opened to reveal his cousin. Frodo stood before him looking rather pale and the air of sadness that he carried with him now brought on a sense of painful age and unease. Merry shuddered in the chilly hall but could find nothing to say. Frodo offered him a wan smile. "Yes, Merry? What is the time? I'd thought everyone in Middle-Earth had fallen asleep but me by now."  
  
"I did too," murmured Merry. "Are you writing the story?"  
  
Frodo shivered a brief moment, his hands quivering as was their wont of late, especially when they had been working desperately and late into the night without rest. "I was. I couldn't sleep, it's dreadfully cold tonight."  
  
"Let's light a hearth then," Merry smiled and looked up into his cousin's pained eyes with a bit of hope. Frodo smiled weakly and nodded, stepping away from the door and gesturing Merry to enter.  
  
Merry stepped in and, despite the warm glow of the lamp, it was even more chilled in there. Frodo's pale skin seemed to glisten like the cool moonlight and Merry ached to see again the way his cheeks flushed when he laughed. Frodo went to the desk and slipped some loose pages of notes into their appropriate places in the thick red book, and then settled before the hearth. Merry threw on the faggots and lit the kindling before he sat beside his cousin. "I suppose," said Merry with a bit of forced humour, "that both of us are in need of a bedtime story if we are to find any sleep this night."  
  
Frodo stared into the flames for a moment, they danced in his listless eyes before he took the effort to blink and shake his head. "I am done telling tales. All but one." His eyes strayed to the desk where the red book rested, bursting with loose leaves and scribbled notes.  
  
Merry felt a sharp pang of loss just then. Frodo seemed troubled, his eyes were lit with a faint light that seemed to shimmer far away. Merry did not like it when those eyes were far away, he wanted his cousin with him, beside him, and nowhere without him. He could not bear it if Frodo were to wander away like that and see no reason to return. Merry felt urgency rise in his chest, a great trembling need to grasp his cousin's shoulders and whisper "Please!" and need no further explanation than thus. No not alone, not without him, Frodo couldn't just disappear like that.  
  
"Please," Merry began, wretched and sorrowful. Frodo looked up with concern his eyes losing their distance. He looked toward his younger cousin and furrowed his brow. Merry ducked his head and took a great rattling breath that seemed to press down the weeping that threatened to rise up. "Please... tell me what troubles you, cousin. It may not hurt overmuch if you should speak of it with me."  
  
"I'd sooner burn alive than burden you with my old hobbit troubles," Frodo said with far too little jest for Merry's liking.  
  
"Not knowing what is in your heart troubles me more, cousin."  
  
Frodo sighed and looked out the window. The stars were small and far away, wrapped about the deep velvet of the night sky. Frodo's voice filled the room with a soft grief that smote Merry's heart. "I have gone so many a night of late without dreams of the stars," said Frodo. The words alone seemed such a trifle thing. But Merry knew the depth of their meaning to Frodo and he felt his heart ache. "It is a silly thing," continued Frodo, wistfully, "A small thing. My dreams have not been foul and for that very blessing, I should be thankful, but I do so miss the stars, the light they filled me with." Frodo smiled wanly and let his gaze drift toward the hearth. "They are but dreams."  
  
Merry could hear the crickets chirping their symphony outside and that seemed to tell him the night was truly warm beyond the dark halls of Bag- End. He turned back toward the fire and found no more words. He felt he might stare at that fire, thoughts consumed by its flame, until it ate itself away and all he could gaze at were the ashes. To his surprise, Frodo was not about to do that, and tore his eyes away from the fire to watch Merry. Frodo seemed to gaze at him with silent sorrow for a moment then leaned back and sighed wearily. "Though I wouldn't mind hearing a tale or two. A silly one. Like we used."  
  
Merry looked up. He furrowed his brows as he watched Frodo throw his head back and lean on his elbows, taking a deep breath and smiling slightly. Merry cleared his throat, shifted uneasily and then spoke. "I'm not sure-"  
  
"Pish-posh," chuckled Frodo. "Who taught you? Do not insult me, cousin."  
  
Merry could not help but smile. "Once upon a time..."  
  
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Merry tucked in the counterpane and straightened the quilts as Faramir nestled deeper into the bed. He crawled next to his nephew and stroked his hair. The lad sighed and snuggled close to his uncle. "Did you like the story, Faramir, my lad?"  
  
"Oh yes, it was so wonderful. Could you tell me more?"  
  
"Another time, dearest."  
  
"When will Mama and Papa come home?" whispered the child into Merry's shirt.  
  
"When you open your eyes and see sunlight in your window. Being the Thain is quite a job you must understand but he will be back from visiting Mayor Gamgee in Hobbiton before you know it."  
  
"I miss them, sometimes they let me lay in their bed and they tell me stories, but never about bugs like that. Please don't go, I feel safe next to you Uncle."  
  
"I won't go then. You don't worry and I'll give you another tale before I go tomorrow if you like." The lad sighed contentedly and wrapped an arm around his uncle, resting his curly head on Merry's chest. Merry turned to face the western window, the stars glimmered amid the darkling sky that hung over the west. He smiled slightly, closing his eyes and holding his nephew close. You dream well, little dear, dream well and feel safe. And I hope you feel safe, Frodo, and I hope you are dreaming of the stars again. 


End file.
